


Projection

by mellyface



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, Kissing, M/M, idk how to tag things on here yet screams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyface/pseuds/mellyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Judar and Ja'far project their feelings for Sinbad onto one another.</p><p>(repost from FFnet as I'm leaving/moving works over here!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Projection

**Author's Note:**

> Judar/Ja'far is such a guilty pleasure... hope you enjoy them as much as I do! This was one of my very first R18 fics and though it's on the older side it's still quite precious to me. Hope you like it and thank you for reading!

The cool ghost of Sindria's night air gently ruffled the young general's hair as he worked, teasing his skin, coaxing him into the night. Ja'far merely rubbed his cheek in dismissal, unfettered, returning diligently to his work. Sinbad was out drinking and gadding as usual with Sharrkan and a few other generals and officials; it was not uncommon for them, especially on nights like this where the air was warm and heavy, cut through by a cool breeze, lanterns and laughter lining the streets into the late hours. The nighttime was beautiful here, something to go out and enjoy, but it was also just as pleasant to work in and Ja'far felt he accomplished much on such relaxing evenings. Furthermore, he had no interest in booze and women, and though it irritated him more than he liked to admit to think of Sinbad slacking off, his king was always more prepared and accomplished than Ja'far gave him credit for, to the point that he had long given up his fruitless protests. And so the king went out to play while his adviser set to work.

Soft lips expelled a sigh; smooth white hairs dusting his vision as he sleepily bowed his head. The tower was quiet and he found the breeze soothing. He recalled the laughter of his king, the firm yet gentle grasp on his shoulder, the devastatingly vivid memory of each finger so gently curled over the thin fabric that served as the only barrier between their skin. That lingering, resonating voice: _you work too hard, Ja'far, go out and play a little_.

The King's adviser and most trusted general let out a soft snort. He was not one for nighttime festivities—or festivities in general—and besides . . . Ja'far had trouble relaxing the grip on his pen at the thought of Sinbad, likely having drunk far too much, bedding some loose woman while Ja'far was up in his tower slaving away for him. He smirked inwardly at himself in disgust, what was he, a jealous wife? Hardly.

"What an ugly expression that is."

A haughty and all-too-familiar voice rang disharmoniously in Ja'far's ears. Judar's entrance startled Ja'far something fierce, his heart bounding from his chest. Had he been so lost in thought—he frowned, suddenly aware of the petty nature of such thoughts—that he hadn't even noticed the footsteps? What an unforgivable failure on his part, even if Judar was more than the ordinary intruder. He cursed himself twice realizing he'd been making some sort of private, likely embarrassing expression.

"Sinbad isn't here, Judar." He sighed. "He's out tonight."

The young, but impressively powerful magi narrowed his eyes at that, though his icy smile did not wane. "With you it's always  _Sinbad, Sinbad, Sinbad_ , is it?"

Ja'far didn't bother to dignify Judar's asinine comment with response. He merely returned to his papers, which the dark-haired imp had no problem overturning with a mere swipe. He pressed his palms invasively against the desk as he leaned forward, as if to force Ja'far to pay attention to him.

"Are you bored, Judar?" Ja'far asked with as little inflection as he could manage.

"Aren't you?" Judar sneered casually, "Or is the boring little Sindrian general perfectly content to spend the night making love to his boring little papers?"

Ja'far sighed, not in the mood for Judar's games. He hoped the magi would hurry up and have his fun, make his point and leave. Having him around always set him on edge, made his skin go prickly with discomfort. There was something extremely bothersome yet also fearsome about him, the feeling that Ja'far would love nothing more than to be rid of him but would ultimately rather avoid a fight with him.

Judar continued, "Tell me, Ja'far, do you enjoy doing a king's work while he goes out to fuck and play?"

The crudeness of his words made Ja'far grit his teeth—it was not unlike the younger self that he had deeply tucked away. What business was it of Judar's anyway?

"Sinbad has his own work, and I have mine," he ground out, attempting to maintain a calm disposition, "As he is my king I have no desire to object with how he spends his free time as long as he's successfully leading this kingdom."

For extra measure he added, "At any rate, I don't see how it's of any concern to you."

"I knew you'd say that," Judar sighed, visibly disappointed, his mouth fell open dramatically, "You're so  _boring_ , Ja'far."

Nerves already grated upon more than usual, Ja'far made the mistake of asking, "What do you want, Judar?"

Not as if Judar was one to obediently answer questions. His haphazard appearances were never sensical or warranted, nor did they ever end with a feeling of ease. However at this moment Ja'far saw him as more of a nuisance than anything to be wary of.

"Why don't you go with him? Surely he's invited you to join him and the others out, no?"

Judar seemed to wave his wand lazily about as he spoke, staring off with a bedroom gaze before turning sharply on Ja'far once more, a mischievous grin highlighting his youthful but dangerous features.

"Maybe if you're lucky, he'll drink enough to bed you instead of those women."

He nodded casually in the direction of the tower window, where the faint, distant giggling of girls could be heard from below, mingling with music amidst the late night festivities.

Ja'far's freckled complexion darkened slightly, but he fought off all other impulse to react.

"Don't project your own feelings onto me, Judar."

Before he could realize the impact of his own words, he felt a rough grip take up his jaw, fingers pressing hard into his freckle-spattered cheeks.

"I'm not projecting anything," Judar hissed, now almost nose-to-nose with Ja'far as he leaned in close with a white cold smile, "Look me dead in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong about you when it comes to him."

Ja'far met him with a challenging glare, but it faltered.

"You're—wrong."

It didn't really sound convincing. Judar smirked.

"So the real question is, do you actually  _love_  the bastard or do you just want him to bend you over?"

He'd turned Ja'far's face in such a way that their eyes were still fiercely connected, but Judar's breath now snaked hotly down his neck. Ja'far, still biting back words of utter revulsion, merely averted his gaze.

At this Judar laughed with delight, "Ha ha! Unbelievable. You really do love him, don't you? How naïve are you?"

Even as his thin but muscular body shook with laughter his viselike grip on Ja'far did not let up. Ja'far felt himself grow hot. No, no, no. He hated this. He didn't want to give in to Judar's provocation, but it was working on him only too well.

"Shut up! You aren't any different from me. You're not fooling anyone coming here just to see him."

"Wrong again." Judar's eyes narrowed into slits as he yanked Ja'far towards him by the jaw, causing him to be half-sprawled over his own desk.

"I'm not like you at all. You're pathetic, spending every day at his side with your stupid feelings. Wanting someone and loving someone are two completely different things. I don't wait up for him all night sighing and wishing like a little girl, he's nothing but a tool to me, a prize in a game." His fingers held Ja'far bruisingly, his face close enough for the other's eyes to hesitantly linger over sharp, exposed canines as he spat out harsh words, "I may someday make him my possession, but I'll never wait around for him like you do."

Ja'far's gaze fell and his features sank with it, a hopeless expression taking the place of his previous defiance.

"I'm not waiting for anything. I'm not an idiot, Judar." His voice had gone quiet.

Judar, having braced himself for venom, was startled at first, but he had to admit seeing his enemy make this sort of expression was all-too-pleasing.

"No?" he purred, releasing his grip at last, "You don't hold any hope at all? That he might . . . like this . . ."

Without warning he raked the pads of his fingers over Ja'far's wearied brow, gently pushed back his keffiyeh, letting it fall from his hair to the chair behind him. Slowly, his fingertips trailed up along a now bewildered Ja'far's cheek and through his milky hair, the gentleness of Judar's touch contrasting with the dull ache that hadn't quite yet left his bruised jaw.

The general slapped his hand away, "Don't."

"Don't you hope that he might someday pull you close and whisper your name. . ." he continued, wrapping his other arm around to draw that slim body close against his chest, his lips curling into a wicked smile against a lightly-freckled ear, " _Ja'far._ "

"Judar." He warned, hating him, hating this with all his might—yet still half-hard from the pent up frustration. Beneath his robes at least it wasn't something the other would easily notice; at least Ja'far he prayed he wouldn't.

But Judar did notice _something_ , something that had changed in Ja'far's demeanor.

"Oh? Does this excite you?"

He dipped a hand into the gaping collar of his victim's robes, fingering along the contours of Ja'far's slender frame, searching for a way beneath his stiff underclothes.

Ja'far had no response other than to push the arrogant magi away, glaring at him venomously. This was not going to happen, whatever it was. Absolutely not. Sure, his heart was beating erratically, and his blood was stirring, but it was only nerves. He was upset, and Judar was using that against him to confuse his body—

"Come now, is this how you would treat your king?" Judar grinned, pressing forcefully against him once more; his fingers found their way to the ties on Jafar's robes, deftly plucking apart the strings.

"You aren't—"

"So pretend I am." He said simply, and silenced Ja'far with a kiss.

His first instinct was to activate his household vessel and kill Judar for touching him, though truthfully he was not much of a match against a magi in a one-on-one battle—but even without magic, the kiss was draining and left Ja'far weak and panting. Why was this happening? What was Judar trying to get out of this? What was worse was the undeniable ache he felt between his legs at that brat's suggestion. Pretend Judar was Sinbad—as if he could allow himself to do that! Like a child fighting back, Ja'far untangled his arm from where Judar had pinned it in his robes and reached around to take a fistful of the boy's thick, black hair. The quiet, low moan that that elicited was surprising to Ja'far. Did . . . Judar like that? Was this him taking his frustrations towards Sinbad out on Ja'far as well?

Judar did not relent; his kiss was sweet and poisonous. Their positioning started out awkward until he'd found a way to get Ja'far on his back, splayed out on the desk as he perched predatorily over him. The white-haired general gave another experimental tug at Judar's hair, and he hissed in wanton approval, dragging his teeth over his captive's neck in a sloppy kiss.

Soft, trembling murmurs rolled off Ja'far's lips as the kisses became more intimate, more insidious, and Judar began to tug apart his robes.

"You wear too many clothes," he whispered, slinking over Ja'far in such a way that the man couldn't avoid eyeing his contrastingly exposed, tight abdomen. He squirmed in protest as greedy hands invaded his clothes and lips invaded his skin.

He parted his now swollen, peach-colored lips as if to protest, to bid that Judar slow down. The scars and marks that mottled his skin were shameful to expose; it was something he did not want Sinbad to see. But this was not Sinbad, this was Judar, he remembered as he cast his eyes upward. Looking at Judar, Ja'far could see the chaotic smile had now completely vanished from his face, leaving a dangerously serious expression. Was this the face Judar intended for Sinbad?

For some reason Ja'far felt annoyed.

"You don't have to make that face," he grouched, the ceremonious atmosphere from a moment ago suddenly gone.

"Shut up. Don't ruin this for me."

Ja'far's arousal had become increasingly apparent now that his robes had all been stripped off, and it didn't take long for it to reach Judar's attention. Ruby-colored eyes flickered from between Ja'far's legs back to his face, which had immediately turned a shade of deep crimson.

"It's not—" he started, though he was not sure how explaining himself would change anything.

"For me. I know." Judar murmured darkly, and then, to Ja'far's great surprise, began to knead and stroke him anyway, watching his prey with an unreadable expression.

Who was this Judar he had never seen before? Ja'far hardly had the time to contemplate it as the experience of being touched in this way by another, for the first time ever, began to steer his consciousness far off elsewhere. Judar's touches felt experienced, and the subdued young general could only throw his head back and whimper softly.

Judar let out a muted groan of his own, glaring down at Ja'far. Judar found those little sounds he was making to be surprisingly erotic, but they were also interrupting his twisted Sinbad fantasy.

"Can it." he breathed, an agitated edge to his voice, and placed his other hand roughly over Ja'far's mouth to stifle him. At first the other jerked and squirmed in protest, but his messy cock stiffening in Judar's hand was proof of how he really felt. Judar couldn't wait any longer, yanking down his waistband to free his own erection; he pressed it up against Ja'far's and began rubbing them together with his free hand.

"Use your hand, too." He demanded in an urgent whisper, and the white-haired young man beneath him feebly did as he was told. They continued like this, becoming more and more eager, eyes clouded in the throes of their ecstasy as their thoughts centered on Sindria's king. Ja'far would shut his eyes, blinded by perverse pleasure, only to open them and catch an imaginary glimpse of violet. He was close, too close. Any second—

"Ah—Sin—!" he gasped between Judar's fingers, before catching himself and averting his eyes. Despite them both knowing from the start what this had been about, Ja'far found it humiliating.

Judar should have reveled in his humiliation, but it only annoyed him. All of it did. His own cheeks were now unavoidably flushed with heat, the sheen of perspiration visible on his lightly tanned complexion. He was so inexplicably irritated by this outburst, despite that it was the very thing he had been pushing for, that he'd been waiting all this time to sneer in Ja'far's face about. It was always about Sinbad with him, and Judar had hated him for never admitting it.

And yet here was the prince of frigidity himself, melting beneath him, flesh both delicate and crude with a mix of dainty freckles and jagged scars that none were granted access to; none before now, anyway. Judar had done this, not Sinbad, so why was that bastard getting all the credit? The thought made Judar feel angry and possessive. That moan of shameless admission made his blood boil.  _Sin…_

"I'm not— _Look_   _at me!_ " he seethed, grabbing Ja'far's chin and jerking it towards him when he caught the other avoiding his gaze, "I'm not Sinbad. Who do you think you're fucking?"

Ja'far's eyes went wide, his body motionless. For a moment all that could be heard was the mingling of their soft, ragged breaths. "I'm. . . we're not. . . "

Judar was done talking. He recaptured his enemy's mouth in a violent series of kisses, one hand curled tightly beneath Ja'far's jaw in a light chokehold, the other snaking behind to prod at his backside. He twitched nervously, opening his mouth to object, but Judar's fevered kisses gave him no opportunity to speak. The cool metal of golden cuffs dug into his thigh, and he moaned against Judar's lips as a finger, lubricated slick with his own previously spilled come, slowly slid inside him.

Everything was spiraling wildly beyond control for the young Sindrian general. How had it become this way? What were they doing? Was it even about Sinbad anymore? Why was it that no matter how many times he closed his eyes and reopened them, all he saw now was Judar's face, transfixed so deeply back on him that it made Ja'far shiver?

Just as he was becoming accustomed to the feeling of Judar's fingers pumping in and out of him, he felt something entirely new pressing into him. "Ju—!" he started, his small frame shuddering at the shock.

Judar laughed darkly as he pressed his lips against Ja'far's collarbone, but did not quite smile. He was nothing but serious in ravaging his victim with allover bites and licks and nips and kisses; every inch of Ja'far's body that ached for Sinbad, Judar would make ache for him instead. He wouldn't lose to that bastard king—hell, he couldn't wait to revel in the sick pleasure of telling Sinbad he'd fucked his little adviser. He would destroy everything, he would have his way.

"Say it," he ordered, one hand over Ja'far's throat, the other curled over his hip. He clawed into him harder. It was so hot and tight inside, he was growing impatient.

" _Say it_." He was at his limit. Ja'far gasped in pain, and Judar moved his hand to stroke him once more, to bring Ja'far back to the edge with him.

"Judar. . ."

"Again," the word was a low hiss against Ja'far's neck; hips bucked hard against the general's slight body as he rubbed his thumb agonizingly over the slit of his cock. "Who's fucking you? It isn't Sinbad."

"It's not—!" Ja'far moaned desperately, "It's not. It's you. You are—It hurts—Judar!"

Didn't he know how that squirming of his felt for Judar inside him? Damn it all. With a string of muttered curses, he came forcefully inside; he lingered only a moment after before pulling out. Without the immediate and distracting pain of Judar inside him Ja'far was left lying in heat, the feeling of unfinished arousal still pitted deep in his belly.

"What . . ." he whispered incoherently, having no idea what those last few minutes had been.

Judar perched languidly over him, panting hard, staring wordlessly for a brief, confusing minute. He didn't know the answer either, but he was done. Abruptly he stood and as he finished dressing himself he gave Ja'far his coyest most impish smile.

"Ah, well that was fun. Be seeing you, Ja'far."

He turned, leaving the stunned general to finish himself off. Judar wanted to laugh, imagining him coming all over himself, then immediately straightening up his desk afterwards in shame, returning to work as if nothing had happened. He would have expected no less of Ja'far up until now, but after seeing that expression— hearing his voice ragged with passion, the writhing of his thin body beneath him . . . Judar wanted to laugh, but he couldn't. Not while his mind was still flooded with images of Ja'far.


End file.
